


Prisoner

by liitany



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Bondage, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, M/M, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prison Sex, Rough Sex, Vague Kissing, Verbal Humiliation, implied matsurie but just a heads up, tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 06:48:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13405725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liitany/pseuds/liitany
Summary: Mirumo is in his own little prison, praying for his son, when the one who essentially killed his family comes in for additional bickering. Little did he know, it goes beyond insulting his downfall.Seeing the man who once had every power in his grip, tied up, shackled, bending his knees on the cold hard ground, brings Matsuri much joy. Something more than tortures, suppressors and quinques shall teach the head his place. The investigator is the top, and the ghoul the bottom.The tables have turned.





	Prisoner

Mirumo noted a Dove's scent advancing in the hallway outside his little prison, but it was unusual: there was a hint of ghoulish scent — just like him. What he did not expect was the scent nearing his door. What he did not expect was its  _attachment_ to the door as it lied a hand on the handle and turned. What he did not expect was it wanted to see him. Personally. The harsh scent revealed to be a black-haired man just as aged as him but significantly younger, with a dip of facial hair on the chin, in the typical attire of white suit. Those naturally unsympathetic, cold, cruel black eyes of his skimmed the room in which the head was trapped, and fixated on his kneeled, crumpled figure before turning to the guards.

"You may go," the newcomer said to them. "Give the key to me."

He could hear the guards stiffen. They obligated nonetheless, without a word.

The man closed the door after walking in, locking it. Clacks of heels surrounded the other on the ground, who without looking could tell he was prowling around him, analyzing — no — scrutinizing him. He knew what it meant. His family had come to a close, and someone made sure to make him taste such failure.

He, the shameful focus of this extermination, was the blame? Two investigators happen to catch his employees, and that was why preparations had been hasty. If he was lucky, though, the shame would eventually turn on them when Shu-kun flew away from here.

"We found his helicopter, in case you do not know," the investigator's German words broke his train of thoughts. He was still prowling around him. 

Mirumo's world crumbled.

All he could do was growl. Just a growl which vanished just as it came in this lonely cell.

The investigator chuckled cruelly. "The possibilities are not that endless, Mr Tsukiyama. Where do you think we know he went? Only two buildings of yours have those helipads. We narrowed them down and shot them on sight. Of this grand empire, is this how much its leader's strategy can reach? It is a pity this mindset cannot last the family so long. How have you been doing in this final moment?"

"I am doing very well, thank you," was his meek answer, also in German. Better not let the Dove hit the weak spots; who knows what information can come out of him, out of rage?

"They have been treating you this well, isn't it?" The voice was gleeful. He did not know for he was still looking at the ground, but he was sure the other man was smiling, glowering down above him. "Your status must have got you lucky."

"My fate is inevitable. I get the idea," he interjected, thinking fast. "What use is a status of when it comes to an end?"

"I do not know," he followed.

"Please get right to it. I do not intend to harm you with a silly little game."

A harsh chuckle. "Silly! Look how you have demoted yourself, and who is the one winning now?"

"What use is in winning?" He shot back, his stare lifting to meet the Dove's, which he could not see due to the glare in front of his lenses. "Your prisoner will die sooner or later after all his use is finished off. How predictable is that. The game will end."

"What if it doesn't?"

He was ready to respond despite his stumped mind, but the investigator lowered down so his mouth was near the ghoul's ear.

"Besides, your use has not finished off."

His arms latched on his shoulders to nudge him backward. He resisted but they hardened, forcing him to comply and back into the wall behind him.

"No worries."

The investigator's legs were uncomfortably trapped in his thighs.

The mouth was closer in his ear, so much he could feel the heated breath.

"I will make you useful ten times more than now. I will make you even more before you go into the interrogation room and hell breaks loose."

His hand set on his jaw. Its fingers moved in a caressing pace.

At first he did not feel, but the leg moved too, tracing unnoticeable circles in the spot between his legs, which became a bit uncomfortable due to the erecting stretch.

He couldn't relax; otherwise that would be a weak spot to kill him right here —

The breath came down under his earlobe and the lips touched the skin. Goosebumps — "You won't regret the things I will do to you in the next seconds, Tsukiyama. Disobey me or you will suffer a fate worse than a prisoner, however — Wait no. I will be more merciful on you, but if you dare, you do not want what comes next either."

 _Things._ Plural. He couldn't smell any weapons on him. What torture involves bare hands?

The lips left, leaving his neck cold.

The investigator stared at his face, and his leg kept rubbing. "Look at you ..."

Predictably, Mirumo could feel warmth rising inside him. He stared back nonetheless, past the glare in the other man's lenses. "What do you want?" His voice came slightly distorted due to the throatiness within.

A light slap on his mouth. It felt insulting. "What have I told you? You are my prisoner, so who do you think you are to talk back?" At the corner of his mouth the investigator was grinning.

"What have you said about my high status? What have you said about my usefulness?" He began to grin as well. "How amusing it is to see the words backfiring on you —"

Another slap. This time it was hard. The leg jerked harshly. He inhaled. "Do you realize who is in control here? Look at you, bound up and kneeling like the slave you are, yet talking back at me like you don't know your place. Mister Mirumo Tsukiyama, your family is gone, your son is gone, and you are in the lowly cell despite your high status?" A chortle. "Disgusting. At least until now. What an unruly mouth."

"One thing you do not know about entrepreneurs is they are unruly and they give no fuck about it," he uttered and spat. "And you are disgusting as your own hypocrisy, born as a ghoul, exterminating a ghoul —"

Pain erupted in his skull as that man snatched his hair; his neck almost snapped. The leg almost kneed him; it was painful but at the same time — " _THEN_  that means I give a fuck about you." A harsh bite in the neck, not enough to detach flesh but enough to show caveat.

Mirumo's heartbeat heightened. The part where the leg touched him started to wet. " _Fuck_ you." The wet, the heat, along with the investigator's licking tongue, started to cloud his thoughts; he tried his best to channel them to speech, but they came out with half a growl. "The way you look down at me as if I am nothing but a savage." He gasped as the knee slammed again. His legs were folded and bound; there was no way he could move. "The way you think you can keep me trapped like this just with your knee between my legs, your hands around me ... As if you can stop me from speaking. As if you think I would cower."

"Yes you will." The knee was gone — his crotch and neck felt briefly cold — but that was because it had gone and clamped on his chest. Mirumo was instantly pressed back against the wall. The voice was dark and certain. "I don't even have to trap you in order to make you cower." The next part of his voice sounded darker than ever, so dark there seemed more than sadism. Was it want? Was it thrill? "In fact, force is just so unnecessary. I don't even need to use them to make you cower and worse, begging. I can do this without hurting you. I wouldn't want to ruin your perfect blood, perfect lineage, perfect body." The other man's eyes roam up and down, gleaming. It matched close to lust, he was pretty sure. "You're already hot and bothered, aren't you? Good, 'cause the next moment your eyes will be glazing and your  _mouth_ will be needy."

Out of corner of Mirumo's eyes, one of his hands went downward on his pants and slightly in so it rested on his thigh. And in between the thighs, something was bulging. The hand moved away to droop on the side, but the crease was still there.

Alright. No wonder he had said "things" as plural. (But that factor could serve as a distraction.)

"It is not only my mouth that will be needy," he replied, leaning toward him against his binds, but the knee slammed to keep him pinned against the wall. "It is not only myself that will be begging for pleasure. If you keep me against the wall you will get none of it."

The investigator bent his back a bit to inch his face closer. "Let me give you a hint, you are not the one in control." He stopped to bring away his glasses and tucked them in the front pocket. "How greedy you are, to kneel underneath me and taking anything from me, hopelessly." He lifted Mirumo's chin, his thumb brushing across the lower lip. "You must've been so hungry ever since we imprisoned you here."

 "How terrible and hypocritical your treatment is," he purred. "To fulfill hunger to one ghoul but not the other."

"Shut your mouth, you scum." The hand moved up, brushing past his cheekbone, resting and yanking his hair so Mirumo was looking into the investigator's cruel, dark eyes. "You filthy shit. Are you ungrateful I am about to deliver a meal to you?"

"Where is your meal? Show it, or I will get one myself by tearing the little flesh in front of me."

The knee was gone and a foot dug into his groin. His breath caught and his muscle squeezed. "There is nothing here for you." His spectacles were then snatched away. A  _clack_ and he knew they had been tossed to the side. Fine, he could still see the other man clearly. "And one hand you lay on me I would tear you apart, ruin you so much you would scream to the world with my name."

"Your name sounds foul and horrid." Fire, black fire rose inside him. "To say that would be least thing desirable to do."

"That is too bad, since you are not the one in control. I wouldn't scream your name either, since you play your humans terribly and look at what this downfall has painted you as."

"While you all hide away your identities and want the world hail you as guardians for the humans. You deserved to be ruined, even with the clothes coming apart from you and seeing you writhing on the ground would be so good for me."

The grip on his hair tightened so much he grit his teeth to snarl, but a swift movement of the other man's free hand shoved something fat and hot into his mouth. He tried to bite it off but it was so steady and unyielding. He tried to breathe but it blocked too much of the air trying to escape into his mouth. With a gasp, his hand slammed back on the wall, his eyes directly at the ceiling. The thing in his mouth was pulsing and jerking more and more into his airway and throat —

The investigator was smiling, no, grinning and flashing his teeth, drawing back his hair with his other hand. He leaked deep in his mouth, and jerked his hips when Mirumo's tongue froze. "Get to work." He winked. "Washuu Matsuri: 1; Tsukiyama Mirumo: 0."

* * *

His prisoner's lips felt warm, yet its insides were huffing with hot air against his tip. How he loved the breeze of cold air cut short by warm one, over and over, as he thrusted inside that mouth. Each beat roughened his breath.

He could see it, could see his desperation no matter how the other man tried to hide it —

The other man's eyes were shut, his mouth remained firmly around what it was ordered to be. His pace, as ordered, was just as rhythmic, steady, and limited as he understood by pull of his hair. He did not quiver either, just went back and forth as commanded, perfectly matching to Matsuri's desire. He licked cleanly and sufficiently, pulsing the thing in his mouth so satisfyingly the investigator moaned as he wanted. The man showed no complains in any form: no groans, no defiance, no outstretched limbs for support or personal gain.

But Matsuri could smell it — see it, in fact, at the corner of his eyes. Just at the crotch area came that moist smell. This smell had grown stronger and stronger as he continued his tantalization, pretended he never saw the turmoil of the ghoul, who was a  _prisoner_ after all. So did the smell of perspiration, as beads of sweat started down Mirumo's neck — whose jugular vein was exposed much, pulsing from the need — with moistures wetting the suit he was trapped in, drenching the shirt inside. The only loose lock now clung to his forehead; how he looked ridiculous now the slicked-back hair was also drenched with sweat. His legs, kneeling, were squeezing against each other, desperate to conceal the bulging crease above them, which lengthened so subtly.

"You shameful, pathetic trash." Matsuri panted and pushed in a few more, extending his demand. The other could still hold it; how resilient ... Another moan escaped from him ... He couldn't help it, as he trailed his free hand to cup the face beneath him, feeling the smooth cheekbone and the lovely face ... And he felt the lips sucked, the tongue licked away the leaking liquid, but such sensations were exciting and spilled more, so they tickled his cock and kept him coming. He sighed and sighed, content at the fulfillment and jerked his hips to feel around the mouth, taking more pleasure in. The lips and tongue were so smooth and felt so fresh. The lower part of his body heated further, pulsed harder.

"You're so good for me," he huffed. His jerks slowly transitioning to thrusts. It was lucky they were not heard. "How your mouth fits for me and it's so talented. Look how hard you made me come all over your face."

That brought a garbled noise below but it quickly sank, and he felt the lips creeped up to take more of him. He tugged the hair harshly, forcing Mirumo back. The drag of the head had them facing each other in the eyes for a moment, and he could see the ghoul's furious glare. Matsuri's mouth curled to a smirk. "Are you this hungry? This meal should be already enough for you ... You are doing very good, and I can see that." He arched to push in another milimetre, drinking in the glazed frenzy from the violet eyes. Another milimetre, and that was it. He continued his minor pace. "Why so desperate? The thing inside your mouth is tasty anyway."

Upon that — It must be the words wasn't it — he felt a twang of stabs from a pair of rows of sharp teeth. Instantly he arched his back to push in further and changed to severe thrusts. " _You naughty ghoul,_ " he growled between little pants as his length scraped the throat and tingled from the touch. "You sickly lowlife, who do you think you are to control my being like that?  _Ha —_  Who do you think you are to take everything for granted? _Heh,_ you worthless little shit, just look at yourself being reduced to a sweaty little mess and hungry from the very fat thing inside your worthless mouth." He could faintly hear the other man's roughened huffs, but haze set in and he was hooked on this pleasure, the warmth inside this throat and the lips poised against this boneless flesh. True, the man's mouth was so soft, his lips tender (despite its naturally durable texture), perfect for the tingling sensation that heightened his arousal. The throat was hard but the scrape against it was enough to make him groan out pleasure, make his tip to squeeze fluid inside the tunnel — which made him slam harder. He pushed back and forth more vigorously as Mirumo's teeth tried to bite or chomp, each pain swiftly disappearing.  _I love his mouth,_ he started to think. He glanced down and the sight made his smirk wider, almost maniacally.  _He looks so good ... so pathetically good._

"Oh ..." he roughly panted as the arousal inside him creeped up. Inside that erotic organ it felt like burning. On instinct he wanted to feel more of that burn, surpass this level of fire he could take, get overwhelmed from it. His body writhed harder. He bent, further pressing Mirumo's head onto the wall, his hands moving to press against the cool concrete, shoulders slouching, his two legs roughly standing beside both of his curled legs, and writhed his crotch in rough circles. He no longer cared what was down below, just the lick of tongue under his flesh, the escalating fire, and the want of release of gush of fluids. He hardly cared the tire starting in his body now. He loved the pain, and this pleasurable fire throbbed and burst in his cock, making his moan audible again and again. He loved how the tongue tickled, how the throat scraped, and especially that soft, soft lips against the exposed flesh.

His muscles squeezed and contracted.  _I want to ..._ He knew what he wanted, and the drip he secreted made him crave it even more. He desperately bumped the tip and anything connected to it inside the throat; any impact added a new drip down his shaft. "You're so good ... You make me want to come ..." His voice was so rough it was barely above a whisper. "I'll drip so much in your mouth you'll deserve every meal you have missed."

Then he could not speak anymore, because the fire was rising, and his hips were writhing harder and harder, his head was raising for huger amount of air, his speech fading to gasps and moans; he pushed in further and further, loving the strain on his waist and his cock scraping against his dearly prisoner's throat —

Mirumo closed his mouth and worked, his tongue licking whatever it touched — oh so gracefully.

So gracefully that his gush of fluids — " _OH ..._ " as a dark, rough and panted moan — came so much, his shoulders loosen, his moves slowed, and a cloud of another pleasure, soothing and euphoric, washed over him. The other man's mouth continued to lap and he still writhed, supplying the ghoul (who did so well) with the remaining fluids while gasping and contenting himself. Part of his length was already out as he was no longer pressing, so he pulled out the remaining part — and Mirumo made a sharp-pitched noise and a small lean forward.

"Desperate, aren't you?" he teased although his tone sounded tired. His hand stroked the purple, sweaty hair.

The other man growled. Matsuri writhed teasingly, and a tongue lapped back and stroked, just as teasingly.

Suspecting a trick he quickly pulled out, briefly ran a hand down then wiping away the fluid on his coat. It was slick with saliva and a little bit of blood. He tucked his hand in the pocket, trying to shun the the wetness and stickiness, hearing the roughened pants from the prisoner meanwhile. He glanced at the discarded spectacles.

Matsuri looked back. Mirumo did as well, then spat in his direction; a thin yellow drop briefly hung in the air. Matsuri took the spectacles, approached and kneeled next to him. "Shall I assist something for you?" he narrowed his eyes slyly.

Mirumo stared back, head tilted, licking his lips almost lasciviously. The investigator had to stare past him due to the fluid on his face. "You think?" the ex-CEO managed out.

He set the spectacles aside, took out a white tissue paper out of his pocket and brought it close to the kneeled man's face. " _Don't_ bite." This seemed to add no effect, as he jerked his head toward Matsuri's nearing wrist.

Matsuri's free hand yanked back the hair, and completely faced his soaked feature with his own voice roughened to a growl. " _What did I tell you?_ Do you want a bite on your cock too?"

" _Do it._ But you have to unrestrain me." He knew what Mirumo meant. Ghouls in Corniculums were put on a joining outfit with folded arms to prevent movement.

"Or worse." His knee dug into the groin. "I'll leave you on the ground begging pathetically with my come over your face."

That earned silence, so he was able to wipe him clean without problem.

Matsuri immediately released his grip after he was done. Then both men eyed briefly the prisoner's glasses resting aside.

Then Mirumo decided to reopen the conversation. "Let me guess. You will return it to me. Or you won't."

A light bulb went on in his mind. "Not if you have completely fulfilled my favours."

Mirumo stared, clearly thinking. His wrinkled eyes were soft but the stare was hard, unyielding. "Or you shall take it as a trophy after I meet my ends."

"Tortured, died, eliminated, wiped away. What do they have in common? Nothing. You will end in nothing."

He fully turned to him and inched closer. Matsuri could smell his own erotic scent echoing off the opposite mouth. " _A plague o' your house._ "

That was in English. Laced with a heavy British-like accent, too.

 _Plague_. He had heard nothing about it except in relation to the Black Death. Had he not guessed Mirumo meant "on" by that accent he would have never understood this sentence. Well, whatever the  _hell_ it means.

Matsuri laughed briefly and harshly. "We'll see, trash."

" _Trash_ ," Mirumo repeated back in Japanese followed with a brief laugh. It was deep yet smooth, uninterrupted by hicks and squeaks common people do — with a vague throatiness as if in pain. " _Love me or hate me —_ " — That was in the same heavily-accented English again — "—  _Both are in my favour._ "

"Why?"

" _If you love me, I will always be in your heart. If you hate me, I will always be in your mind._ " His moustache twisted into a smile.

Their meanings are so vague but, okay.

Irritated, Matsuri casually slid a hand down between his legs. The smile vanished.

"Then be in my mind," he replied too calmly.

Mirumo didn't move.

And so Matsuri pressed in further with his palm. The bulge felt more obvious.

As he felt it expand, it eventually pressed back.

His mouth briefly curled. "Yours must be more delicious than mine."

His voice must've done good, because the ghoul involuntarily jerked against his hand.

"You are hungry for my mouth, aren't you, filthy animal? You are greedy let your fluid dribble down my tongue, aren't you? You want it to satisfy the heat inside you." He leaned past him to whisper into his ear. "The heat  _I_ created when I breathe down your neck." His thumb traced. He could feel it harden. "When I rubbed against you." He licked his neck. "When I promised how you would feel, making you perfectly hot and bothered." He felt a small movement from the other man's head. His other stained hand slid down Mirumo's shoulders then arms, creeped forward to feel a bit of his hips. "You will feel it all again ... And your fluids will drip hot and wet and your cock will take whatever I want to do to it. And trust me ... you'll be soaking and pathetically wet from it, gasping and moaning."

The other man's throat bulged, however inhuman he was. Heck, when he was so agitated his neck looked beautiful, with its bulging vein and vague curves of muscle. Matsuri flattened his lips against it briefly, feeling its uneven surface. He is beautiful. Matsuri smirked. For a beautiful ghoul to be panting as he was slipped into control by a mouth ...

"Then get on with it." The other man's voice growled.

He spread his legs to straddle. He cupped his face. The cheekbones felt smooth. The frame was elegant. "Oh, no. For now you look so lovely, being desperate like this."

The violet eyes narrowed. What a beautiful fatality. He sank down so their crotches aligned, and rolled his hips. The bulge felt good against his now-clothed one.

And then he flattened himself against the other man's chest, kissing and nipping his throat then neck, in such a way they could have left marks on an ordinary human's skin. Grinding and grinding, he wandered his kisses to supposedly sensitive spots, from earlobe to jawline then the broader area of neck. Then he wandered to the corner of Mirumo's lips, chose the lower one due to the other shrouded by that annoying hair. The other man did not budge, before twisting his head so Matsuri could lick across the lip. It was soft and smooth. He eventually closed his own lips on it, sliding across it, supposing Urie's smaller lips just bore the similar quality. He couldn't help but slide his tongue across it. Smooth and soft. Right, smooth and soft.

Smoothly, he licked down to Mirumo's chin and nibbled there. Then slid down to kiss his throat (again). The rest of his body was covered by this stupid suit, so he with his hand caressed and dawdled with agonizing gentleness down his collarbone, down his chest and stomach — he checked Mirumo's gaze, who were fixed on him with impatient, hungry fury and, to his satisfaction, agony — before reducing his caress into nails trailing lightly on the fabric, then over the bulge. He smirked as he pressed the pad of his finger against what he assumed to be the tip, and the other man shifted to back closer into the wall.

Matsuri lifted his finger away and bent down to kiss the aroused spot. Fingers stroking the un-kissed length, he made tiny licks and nips despite the clothes, felt the man sighing, panting, eventually nudging against him. The length hardening and expanding. He nipped up until reaching the base, then down again, then again, while hearing noises from above. His hand stroked it sideways, up and down, assisting the tease. His lips slid and worked. And here came the misty smell again from the arousal, about to soak the suit. Mirumo, on the other hand, drew a breath, released it, and repeated, devout to denying his submission. There may be a way to work around that, Matsuri thought, and he had to be smart enough to find it, but it didn't matter. Those gasps he heard were satisfying anyway. Judging by the amount of compliance he had to hide, Matsuri could imagine his mouth gaping pathetically wide, facing the ceiling, careful not to give in to its captor. He licked harder. Mirumo nudged back.

If he could, he would command his prisoner to spill his fresh fluids, to feel how he felt when his cock was in that perfect mouth, the gush of warm adrenaline washed over his being like tsunami, and, on Matsuri's behalf, letting out additional whines like his own little pet. It would be so easy. His prisoner had nowhere to escape, bound to the cold hard floor, writhing in hot pleasure and completely under his spell. Besides, it would be so funny if he came. Except for the pity that he could not taste it for real, the fluids would cause an embarrassing hassle and further remind him of his submission, would they not? A chuckle escaped his lips, forcing him to pause. Then he kissed the spot. And Mirumo writhed once more.

Matsuri climbed up and nipped his neck, squeezing his crotch. "It feels really good; wouldn't you like to feel it?"

The muscle under his hand jerked as his prisoner panted heavily, staring at him. Plead or spite. "And" in place of "or" may be a better word choice. Matsuri groped it and smiled in satisfaction. It was so soft, so humanly soft.

He was about to tease again when the other man responded, " _Non._ "

Of course, the (former) master of the entire conglomerate is not a fool. Matsuri edged closer to his ear. "Then suffer." His hand squeezed again.

This time his prisoner regained a better control.

He rubbed his hand against the sensitive spot in circles.

After a moment, Matsuri grew bored.

And aware of the time.

What happened to the heir? What was going on at the rooftop? Was everything successful now? Can he rest?

He stood up. Mirumo leaned his head against the wall, staring at him a bit critically. He knew what both of them were thinking, and unanimously condoned.

He could have broken the glasses, but instead, Matsuri Washuu, with a swift adjustment to his coat, paced to the door, opened it —

" _Bon voyage, monsieur Washuu,_ " Mirumo Tsukiyama said behind his back.

— and the clinking keys, signalling exchange with the guards then locking, lasted briefly before their noises were gone.

* * *

The heat on his cock lasted longer but he could manage it. The pleasure, the mouth ... His tongue brushed his lips as he still sensed the scent from the investigator's. It would have been pleasurably sweet were it not his enemy's. The hands and lavishing tongue lingered in his mind. The soft, fat flesh in his mouth ... Those were the only celebratory things before his doom, he supposed.

Or was this his doom?

Just because he was locked in a cell, with guards preventing his escape?

Suppressors clamped down, weighing heavily on his brain and especially the part where he could spawn his kagune. The helicopter shot down; the family was destined to die ... There may be a way this statement could be overturned. If he could summon a huge enough willpower, he could overcome the things they thought impossible. After all, nothing is impossible.

For example, the suppressors embedded inside him to render him weapon-less.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Despite this, I do not ship Matsurie. The only reason I implied so is because this is mentioned in canon.


End file.
